Bindi Bur Blog

Song


When I was a kid I couldn't say 's' I said 'h' instead. So here, Dear Viewers, is a picture of a bird and an woman 'hingin' a hong'. I think the bird's song may be more nuanced even though the woman is obviously an opera singer. And is that vine growing from her chin? It reminds me of the long black hair that has begun to sprout from mine. Too much information?

It is quite small and you can buy it from my shop.

Rather a Lot of Thoughts


...but it looks like there are definite categories in her mind. Not like mine, where everything interacts or is jumbled up together.


what wonder

what wonder
challenging your life as if it were a plot

something occasionally surfaces
illusive and without form

it is a space with darkness
a voice in darkness

it is a sound-scape of garble
projected words fading in and out

you have to have a pure heart
you have to expect nothing

in between
it feels like hell

the flow will begin
it’s just biding its time –

thinking what do I want?
it will answer its own needs

free from driven ambition
and I will follow its whim

into the deepest part of the wood
it is the Grand Adventure

it is the sense of having no-path
of two left feet looking for a path


I wrote the above poem by following tangents and free association. Really rather surreal in the end. Hope it gives you some feelings or things to think about. Enjoy!

figure caught up in warm thoughts




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Extreme Hair

This lady had some cosmetic surgery to remove a problematic line that destroyed her profile. Gotta love the possibilities of digital editing! Originally though, I worked the lines with ink and a brush that I made using half a dozen hairs from a house painting brush, nice and long and flexible. The ultimate 'long liner'. I should post a picture of my homemade brushes. Some of them are ridiculous.

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Ervin sitting in front of a picture of flowers and some tanka

in the dream
you pushed our rickety house
over
how shall we live
now that we grow old?

I stopped reading
and began to gaze
out the window
and that’s why he
reached over and touched me

open Heart, open
to the world of beauty
its cruelty
and your warm husband’s breath
and his limited sleeping breath

the young plum tree
in the first autumn fog
already bare
my loving heart
will take what comes

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